


It Will Come Back

by 3levetoi



Series: Daleko [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arthur Pendragon Lives (Merlin), Canon Era, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Post-Canon, Shameless Smut, so many feeings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:34:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3levetoi/pseuds/3levetoi
Summary: The rumor of their affair was no longer a secret. Four years had passed since their tryst. Four years since they’d spoken.And now, caught in an unfurling plot to usurp Essetir’s throne, Merlin is captured to be used as a pawn in order to lure the King of Camelot and submit him to aid in this scheme, reopening old and tender wounds in the process.
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Others
Series: Daleko [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158446
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mandyana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandyana/gifts).



> This is part two of a series! This could be read as a standalone, but it might make more sense as to the history of their relationship if you read part one. 
> 
> But to those who have not read the previous part and rEFUSE to do so, basically, Merlin was successful in resurrecting Arthur in the last episode but as Merlin was nursing him back from death, Arthur took the news of his magic rather poorly to which Merlin tried desperately to explain himself, even letting it slip that he was in love with the (then) prince. This angered Arthur further and Merlin left Camelot that very night and didn't return or send any word for seven long years during which Arthur discovered he returned Merlin's love.   
> Merlin sought refuge for himself and his druid clan in Camelot seven years after their fight and rekindled their romance only for Arthur to grow attached and lament for time lost. He was filled with anguish when Merlin still planned on leaving him after the week was done even with their new found love. 
> 
> the last scene was quite heartbreaking I'm very proud of it. I explain it so much better in the fic, if you have the time, you would understand their history so much better if you read it. 
> 
> Also Cenred is alive that's another difference

And Merlin knew, he’d known all along. He’d felt the gaze of his lover as he and his people put more and more distance between them that day. He knew that he existed for Arthur only, everything he was and everything he was meant to be - it was all for him. And if that wasn’t enough, he’d left his heart in Camelot that horrid night years ago. Not to say he didn’t care for his people, not to say he didn’t adore his work. 

Truth be told, there was a sense of whole-ness that he lacked when he was away from Arthur, like a piece of him was missing. He felt it within the deepest part of himself, like a wave of lust that demanded action, he couldn’t get rid of it yet he could not adhere to it. 

Merlin had fulfilled the prophecy. He saved the King and he’d saved Camelot just like Kilgharrah prescribed. What was left to be done? Why was his heart and soul still tied to this place, to this man? 

Yes, he had loved him madly, maybe he still did, but what use was it to stay when they would just serve to tear eachother apart? During his last visit, to his surprise, it was Arthur that made the advance, despite his wife, despite his children. Evenso, Merlin looked back on these moments with a brilliant fondness, falling into bed with this love of his life and not finding his way out until breakfast the next day. He cherished these memories with all of his being, but by the stay’s end, the plan would remain unchanged. He would leave Camelot for an indefinite amount of time, not knowing when or if he would see his lover again, because in the end, they could never truly be together. Not in the way that they wanted to be.

Despite his luxurious lifestyle, Arthur’s own duties shackled him to this place. He was a rock in a stream, always bound within the confines of his own opulence.

Merlin needed to discover himself, discover the true extent of his powers and the world around him. He needed to help the destitute in the process. Merlin certainly couldn’t do that if he were captive to Camelot. He had duties to himself and his people.

It had been now four years since he’d last seen Arthur, eleven since his youth. Merlin wasn’t sure if he’d ever see him again. Sometimes he awoke in the middle of the night with the anguish he had caused his friend. He couldn’t help but feel that he left him more bruised and battered than when he had first arrived. It pained him tremendously, but he could do little about it now, save Waltz back into Arthur’s life and probably make a fine mess of things once more. It was certainly better, he decided, to live wretchedly knowing the pain he’d caused than to inflict more to try and spare his own conscience. 

During these nights when he awoke with a start and his breathing would quicken to a rapid pace and he could do little but stare at the ceiling of the tent, the arm of his woman would gently press across his chest in effort to calm him. She would look at him in the dead of night with her big brown eyes until he returned to himself and smiled at her. Aislinn, her name was. 

After Merlin’s last visit to his former kingdom, he was quick to get betrothed, or the druid equivalent which was far less of a physical agreement than that of the modern customs. In this, the druid couple was free to pursue others as they wished so long as they worked in tandem in other ways. 

Sex was not such a limited activity as that in governed society, it was thought to be a more animal instinct and therefore somewhat of a meditative act or perhaps a prayer to nature. Instead, a couple was bound in a more spiritual sense. They were expected to work their crafts for the good of the community and should they produce children, the children would grow to the ways of the druid. There was no sense of propriety or reputation to uphold, so long as there was communication between them and mutual agreement, none should be shunned. 

Merlin had grown accustomed to this new way of being, but he had not grown up in this world. It had taken him time to adjust. For this reason he thought that he should not refer to Aislinn as his “wife”, not in the sense as he knew it, but as his partner or some variation of it. 

They understood each other. He had recounted the stories of his youth, she knew of his history with the King of Camelot… maybe not to its fullest extent but the bones were there, and she listened with kindness. He might’ve left out some of the more recent developments.

Aislinn was born into the druid clan and was a stranger to the ways of western society, because of this she couldn’t understand all of the customs and traditions and often required further explanation when Merlin discussed such matters. But it hardly mattered, she was happy to listen as long as he was happy to talk, and they would talk of any old thing into the early hours of the morning. There was nothing too mundane that didn’t warrant a conversation. It was all easy.

What she did have, however, was magic. She understood him in ways that no one outside of his clan could. She was sweet to him and gave him peace of mind. They were great friends who were happy to laugh together and lie together. She’d even given him a child. 

He loved her in many ways, and she, him, but they had not fallen for each other. He did not hold for her the same feelings he’d held for Arthur. Nor was he expected to and that was very comforting.

The only requirement in a druid “betrothal” is that they enjoyed each other's company, at least to some extent and were willing to work together to better themselves and their community. No love was needed - or no true-love was needed. This position laid somewhere between close friends, and the western sense of romantic partners, never truly touching either end of the spectrum. 

They were happy. He was happy to feel her body against him. He was happy to know that she would never leave, never be disgusted by him. His secrets were all there in the open. She could take him or leave him as he is. 

“What is it?” She asked him sleepily one night as he awoke with a gasp and she felt his body tense beside her, “is it your king again?”

He looked at the ceiling, trying to control his heartbeat. After it had slowed a bit, he pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head as his breathing slowed to normal. “You’re my king,” he whispered into her hair. 

She laughed as the scruff of his beard tickled her ear.

“And you’re ridiculous!” 

“Shh, you’ll wake the baby!” He whispered into her neck with a hint of laughter. 

She hummed happily and settled back comfortably into the palate they shared, not putting any more distance between themselves as he held her closely. She felt her eyes drooping. She opened them once before she drifted off to sleep and noticed that Emrys’ were wide open and staring hollowly at the roof. 

She worried for him. “He still crosses your dreams, doesn't he?”

He let out an exhausted sigh and rubbed his eyes. 

“Do you miss him?” She asked quietly. 

He didn’t look at her. “It’s very complicated,” he said hoarsely. He knew that she wasn’t asking out of jealousy, it was for his heartsease that she concerned herself, and he was speechlessly grateful to her for it. 

It was the dead of night in the heat of the summer time. The wildness sang from the woods surrounding their camp. The sound of their child’s breathing could be heard from their positions. They held their naked bodies close, but whenever the topic of Arthur Pendragon came up like this, Merlin was somehow more distanced. 

“I s’pose I do in some ways. But… it was never meant to be like that. That time for that has long passed” He tangled his fingers in hers, “I’m so glad that I found you,” he looked into her tired eyes and kissed her. “You make my life better in every way.” 

He closed his eyes as if to sleep but his mind was wide awake. He knew lamenting for time gone by was worthless, but he couldn’t help the weight of his guilt, that he’d thrown Arthur into an infinite loop of this unwhole-ness. But that was over now. He didn’t know if he should ever see his lover again. He didn’t know if he wanted to. He didn’t want to cause him yet more grief. 

Sometimes he caught himself thinking of what could’ve been, had they been born into different roles. Arthur once told him he would build them a cottage in the middle of the woods so they could live out their years together in solitude, no duties save plowing the field and putting food on the table. Sometimes when his mind was idle, he’d think about such things. What would it look like? What would it be like to marry him? 

He knew it was only fantasy, that’s all it could ever be. 

  
  
  


**. . .**

  
  
  


There was a plot unfurling in Essetir. Cenred’s tyrant nephew had plans to usurp the throne and take the place he thought was his. Only, he didn’t have the brute force to overthrow his uncle’s army. Baldric had a few followers that supported his right to the throne and their loyalty was valued, but that was nothing compared to the strength he would need to take what he wanted. 

Baldric had met Emrys during his last visit to their kingdom, he knew of his power. He’d heard the tellings of the slaughter of Cenred’s army at the battle of Camlann at the hands of this wizard and his king. If he could employ his magic to his cause, he thought he might not need so many hands to usurp his uncle. Baldric had listened closely as Emrys recounted his (then) previous journeys and noted how fondly he spoke of the King of Camelot. It was a bit strange in fact, his blind loyalty to a land that had persecuted his kind for ages. Especially being born into a region under an entirely different reign. No, it had to be something else than simple fealty. 

Baldric had then sent his rats to discover what they could and sure enough, there was history between the two. He’d even discovered rumor amongst the servants of a long time tryst between them. This information couldn’t have been sweeter to Baldric.

If the two had romantic feelings for eachother still, he could easily employ both of their services in his plot by threatening the safety of the other. He’d grinned at the thought. Oh it was dastardly indeed, but if all went well, he would surely have his way. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Emrys was good to his people. Wherever he went was always greeted by smiles and nods. The last eleven years, he’d spent mastering his craft which he used for the good of his clan. He was devoted to them, thankful to them for accepting him as they had. And none would doubt that their Emrys was the most powerful warlock to walk the Earth. They’d seen it for themselves.

The druids were a powerful people. They drew their strength from nature, the source of all things. Most who practiced magic within the walls of a city could only summon a small flame or heal shallow wounds even after years of practice, but it was clear that Emry’s powers were far stronger, despite his previous lack of formal training.

Any one of his clan would lay down his or her life for him, and it was clear that he’d do the same for them. 

  
  


Spring had long since passed. Crops were planted and the days in the fields were long, but he knew he could relax at the pond when the heat broke in the afternoon. Emrys loved to lie on the bank and listen to the sounds of the children play and the water babble. Sometimes he would doze off and sometimes Aislinn would join him and they would lie together in contented silence. In the evenings he took to his studies or perhaps discussed strategy or rations. 

Emrys was hardly the oldest member of his tribe, yet they looked to him as a sort of leader. There wasn't a plan that was not proposed to him before being put into action. His station in the druids was somewhat of a king who lived among the common folk with austerity. 

One morning he was out helping to irrigate the fields. He felt a bead of sweat running down his cheek and wiped it away with the back of his hand. It was hardly mid-morning and the heat was already strong. As he stopped to take a breath, he heard a scream from the camp followed by another. Without hesitation, he dropped his shovel and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. 

The barracks had enchantments cast around them, naturally, that keep them safe from malicious intent. His magic was strong, and he could not imagine it failing him like this.

He tore through the campsite. There were men dressed in dark leather, must’ve been twenty, a few of them were holding knives to the throat’s of his friends and neighbors. Many of the druids. One of the captives was Aislinn. She looked at him with terror in her eyes, breathing shallowly against the blade. It struck fear in his heart

“What is the meaning of this?” He said sternly, stepping into the small clearing between the bandits and his men. “Let them go.”

The brute holding Aislinn gave her a sharp tug to the hair, forcing her to the ground as she grunted in anger. 

“Hello, Emrys. It’s been a while,” A man stepped out into the tension with a smile on his face.

“Baldric.” Emrys said firmly, “What do you want?” 

Baldric smiled. It was a grotesque kind of grin that made Merlin’s stomach churn. He wasn’t a tall man, but he made himself known. He wore dark leather like the rest of them, as a sort of uniform perhaps, which starkly contrasted his short red hair which was splayed over his scalp and chin. 

“Come now, don’t be crass. I have a business proposal for you.” 

_ Business proposal _ . This was clearly the beginnings of a threat. 

Emrys tried not to look at the mother of his child. He tried not to notice the rage on her face. He knew if he did, if he gave her any kind of meaning to him with something as small as a glance, it would be held over him. It seemed Baldric was on the cusp of something like an ultimatum and Merlin would not be so kind as to easily give him the upper hand. 

Emrys loosened his stance to signal his calmness. He could certainly take out Baldric and his men but in doing so, he might take out some of his own people too. He also didn’t know if he had any more men watching from the trees, ready to pounce should they have need.

The warlock put on his best smile, “Come now let’s discuss over tea,” then threw a cautious nod to Algain, who quietly sunk behind the crowd and out of sight. 

The two of them settled themselves over a wooden table in the tent that Merlin spent most of his evenings occupying. An iron pot was brought to them as well as two bowls from which they would drink out of. Emrys snuck a careful glance to Algain as if to say,  _ get ready _ . Baldric’s men stood silently around them, with captured druids still in tow. 

A flash of gold in his eye and the pot was boiling, as if to prove that he could scald with nothing but a glance. It was a warning that Baldric received with amusement. 

“In my experience,” Emrys said, pouring them both a cup, ”business proposals don’t often warrant need for hostages.” 

“Then clearly your business is not of such a great importance,” Baldric motioned easily with a snicker. He cooly took a sip of his tea as though this were an average sunday afternoon.

“And to what great importance might I owe this visit?”Emrys had to hold back the fire from his gaze. Part of him hoped that the bastard could feel his rage, but he knew he had to withhold himself if he wanted anything 

“I want to have what’s simply rightfully mine,” Baldric watched his expression, “You see, my dearest father was passed over by the crown which was given so unjustly to my uncle.” 

Emrys knew little of the laws of succession, but he was aware that a dying king may choose of his sons to pass the title for any number of reasons, and he knew in this case, Baldric’s  _ dearest father _ was deemed unfit to rule. 

He already knew where this was going and he didn’t like it. 

Baldric’s was a face that was not so easy to forget. It was pale and round with a sparse red beard covering his cleft chin. He wasn’t a thin man by any means, likely a consequence of his life spent in luxury. But above all there was something utterly sinister that sat behind his dark, beady eyes. 

“What do you want from me?” 

The man sat back in his chair, “I want you to help me get it back, of course. You and your-” Baldric looked around and sneered at Aislinn, “people, wield an unearthly power that will eliminate the problem with ease… if what they say about you is true, that is.”

Emrys stirred his tea and spoke as calmly as his body would allow him. “As much as I’d love to help you, that would be an act of treason. We have only just struck up a treaty with the kingdom of Essetir. On behalf of my people, I can’t sacrifice that.”

“Oh come now, Emrys. I thought you were more clever than that. On behalf of your people, it seems you have no choice,” Baldric motioned around again to the struggling captives. 

_And there it was,_ he thought to himself, _give yourself to him or see your people in pain._ _Typical._

Emrys was greatly disquieted with the fact that his enchantment around the borders had not prevented this meeting. It was unusual and meant one of two things. Either Baldric already had a powerful sorcerer in his employment or that his own powers were growing weaker. He feared the latter of the two. 

Apparently he had thought on it too long because Aislinn let out a pained whine as the man behind her started to twist her arm, forcing his answer. 

“Alright!” he yelled at once, trying to keep himself from seething “alright I’ll help you. But only on the condition that you leave my people free and safe from harm. Take me instead but leave them be.” 

Baldric waved passively at his men and they released the people they were constraining. Aislinn fell to the floor in a gasp and Emrys rushed to her and the others. He checked them quickly for broken bones or maybe internal bleeding, but there was not more than a few bruises and relief in their eyes. 

“We set off at noontime, I trust you’ll have your affairs in order,” Baldric said leaving the tent. 

“Did he hurt you?” He was furious. He could hardly contain his rage. 

“No,  _ leannán. _ I’m fine,” she held his face and kissed him, but he pulled away. His mind raced with rage and worry and fear. He kept asking himself how could this have happened? What would become of his people should he fail? What should become of his people should he  _ succeed _ ?

He rushed into their tent and started to throw some things in a sack.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of going!” 

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” He said, not looking at her. 

“Hey.” She said with authority as she came around to him, and nudged his cheek so that he met her face. “It’s going to be alright. Whatever happens - I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

He felt some of his tension melt away as he regarded her earnest expression. Her thumb brushed his face.

“We’ll be alright,” she whispered, her eyes shining with meaning and maybe a hint of fear. He realized then that he should be spending his last moments here, not fretting, but savoring what he had to return to. “But you have to keep your head on.”

_ She’s right _ , he thought.  _ I let my head get the better of me. I can’t be doing that if we want to make it out of this intact.  _ She kissed him sweetly. He felt a wave of tranquil energy pass between them. He knew that she’d pushed it into him and he was grateful.

He pressed his forehead to hers in a tender moment and whispered, “what am I going to do without you?” 

She kissed him again. “Everything in your power to come home in one piece.”

They embraced for a few moments longer before he pulled away. Naturally, he was anxious about the journey and the uncertainty that was waiting for him when he got to the end of it. He gathered a few of his things, kissed his daughter on the top of her head as she looked at him with love in her eyes, and left the tent.

He sighed and furrowed his brow. He can do this. He  _ has _ to do this. 

“Good man,” Baldric clapped him on the shoulder making him shudder under the touch. Baldric was an inch or two shorter than Emrys, yet he carried the proudness of a man twice his height. 

The sun was high up in the sky and the heat of the day was starting to settle. The horses were already packed and ready and a few men had already mounted. His people gathered around them. Some had looks of fear.

Merlin had not a large family growing up, but during his time here, he grew to think of his neighbors like brothers and sisters. He was sorry to leave them now. 

“You two will stay behind and keep an eye,” Baldric pointed at two of his men, “should our friend decide to misbehave, I will send you the signal.”

“That is not what we discussed,” Emrys spat.

“No one should be harmed if you obey my orders, that was the agreement, correct?” He didn’t wait for an affirmation, before he got up on his horse and looked out over the pass, “then I should expect the converse to be upheld as well.”

He turned to one of his particularly large brutes, “Give him the shackles, I don’t expect him to be so compliant at least for now.” 

The man fitted him with manacles, and secured them to his wrists. He gasped as they stung the skin.  _ Cold Iron _ . A particularly archaic method of suppressing magic and potent too, if his light-headedness was any indication.

“Surely that isn’t necessary!” Aislinn yelled from the crowd. 

He felt energy rush from his limbs and his legs grow a little shaky at the feeling of his magic being choked back. It was somewhere within him still, somewhere he couldn’t easily reach. 

He pulled himself together as he was pushed onto his horse. They tied a strap around his calves which created extra support, but more likely to lessen his chances of escape. 

He felt like a prisoner being taken through a city to be humiliated though it wasn't humility that plague him. It was something far less certain. The Party was kicked into a slow trot on the western path. He snuck one last glance at Aislinn and hoped to the heavens that his face did not express what he was feeling at that moment. 

There was only the horn of the saddle for him to hold onto as his reins were held by the man in front of him... not that he had enough range of motion with the fetters to escape anyways but it might’ve been doable.

There was no room to panic. 

Time was moving in slow motion as he lost sight of his village. A couple riders ahead of him, a rowdy conversation was being held. Their voices sounded malicious in their laughter, but they were never directed towards him. It gave him time to think. 

It certainly seemed like they were headed towards Essetir, but it was too soon to really know.

He tried not to think about the situation. He tried not to feel the loss of his potential bury itself. It left him agitated, like having hands but suddenly not being able to use them, not being able to feel the skin or to wrap the fingers. The sense was drowned altogether.

His body slumped over on the horse’s back, as he tried to regather strength from the energy that was taken so swiftly from him. A wave of frightful hopelessness washed over him, but he was unwilling to concede to it. 

No, he would make it home alive,

come what may.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the filler chapter but I felt I needed something in between. I hope it's not too boring I think of this work as experimental and Im testing out new ideas. If I had the patience to do a complete overhaul, I think I would start this entire work about midway of this chapter and have him simply ruminate on the previous two chapters, but here I am
> 
> Hope you like it ! Next chapter will be far more interesting wink wonk

The sun hung over him in the cloudless sky. It really was a breathtaking ride. He tried to focus on the beauty of the landscapes and not the fact that he may never see them again. The party had made it out of the woodland shade and onto the grass-covered plains. A noticeable difference when the incessant heat beat down upon their backs. Baldric’s men hardly stopped at all, only to make camp in the evening or piss. 

They were not as harsh to him as they could have been. Prepared him meals that were just as their own, gave him time to wash in the nearby stream. Naturally he resented them still, and this bubbled up as they handed him his supper and without thinking he thanked them. Why should he thank them for showing the smallest decency? He was not their prisoner, although the shackles certainly didn’t leave him feeling warm and fuzzy. 

There was one man that seemed occasionally interested in Merlin’s history with the druids. The man, Burne his name was, sometimes around the fire during dinner, would ask him about living in a kingdom and a druid camp and how they were different.

Apparently he’d grown up in a little village not too far from Ealdor then moved to Essetir to find work at fourteen and then fell into the hands of the royal family at some point. 

He was a big man probably in his mid twenties. It was clear his profession (before he became a treasonist) was something that required strength. But Burne revealed that it was really magic he’d been interested in all this time. He wished to learn about all it’s rituals and mysticism, but instead he had to be practical. 

Burne of course had pledged his fealty to the friend of his youth, the man who’d taken him in, but Baldric had also promised him a hefty sum that would permit him to indulge these interests. 

Slowly Emrys was learning more and more about this situation he’d found himself in. 

The stakes must be high if they had to chain him to his horse like this. Emrys had spent upwards of a week thinking what they would be needing him for. What could they possibly ask him to do that wouldn’t permit him to immediately turn on them? 

Despite the ridiculously long rides, he found it difficult to sleep at night. As he stared up at the stars through the tall grasses with his sleeping pallet comfortably under him, his limbs ached and his mind raced. He wondered what Aislinn was doing. He wondered what she was thinking about. His thoughts sometimes turned to inconsequential things like how much she loved him? It wasn’t something he was insecure about, but sometimes he wished that she felt a similar affection to him as some of his,  _ ahem, _ previous lovers, if only to give the whole affair closure in his head. 

But he knew she wasn’t built like that. None of them were. Real love as he had known it defined in western society, was exceedingly rare to the druids. They didn’t lend themselves to each other so much as the Earth itself. 

He knew it was all a grand excuse, this line of thinking. He knew what he really wanted, but it was simply impossible and he’d come to terms with that long ago. There was a time when his chest ached for certain hands on his body or to touch the golden skin that had seen so many sunny days on the battlefield. He loathed himself for it all but what was to be done? He could be no more than a decorative object to Camelot, he saw no future for himself there. 

He was well aware that he’d rushed into the union but he needed to prove to himself that he was capable of moving on. Perhaps that’s a bit disingenuous to what he felt for Aislinn, but that’s just to say that there were ulterior motives for what he did. 

  
  
  


One afternoon they came to the bank of a particularly wide river that required crossing. There was a bridge a couple miles north that could take them safely over, but closer still was a ferryman. He greeted Baldric as they approached, likely having boated them across on the way to the druid camp. Baldric fell back, allowing some of his men to cross with their horses as he would help Emrys across. He stood unnervingly close for the sorcerer’s liking. He could smell the stench of unwashed leather and body odor coming off the man. 

When the two approached the raft with the last of the horses, his eyes widened. He knew this man, the ferryman. He’d introduced himself before years ago, he’d tipped him generously after having brought his own people across the way. Ralph his name was if memory serves correctly.

His body froze as Ralph looked directly onto his face, cocking his head as if out of recognition. Could this be his way out? 

“Say…” the poor man said, “don’t I know you?” 

Baldric turned to Emrys, his face full of masked rage, waiting to see how he would respond. The worried faces of the people he left at camp jumped into his mind. 

“You’re the druid leader! Yes, I remember clearly now,” he smiled, then looked down at the manacles binding his wrists and his smile faded. “I say, are you alright, sir?” 

The last time he’d seen this man he was not in chains, in fact he was in a position of power. He was at a crossroad.  “Quite alright, I’m participating in a rouse so I trust you’ll tell no one,” he said jokingly, “how are you doing, Ralph?” 

He felt Baldric breathe a sigh of relief at this response, and hoped that it would earn him some hospitality once he reached Essetir.

Ralph beamed at the remembering of his name and the two chatted about nothing at all as they crossed the river. After bading their farewells, Baldric strapped him to his horse a little more gently this time. He said nothing as he did so and neither did the expression on his face before continuing on their way. Emrys turned to the boatman and prayed he’d made the right decision. 

  
  
  


The party arrived after ten long days of riding. Merlin had gathered back his physical strength after having had the wind knocked out of him for a day or two. He was adjusting to his new limitations. It scared him that he could not so much as feel his magic flow through him. He just felt hollow. 

_Is this what it feels like to be a normal person?_ he thought to himself as they stopped just insight of the kingdom gates. 

Baldric came around to him. “This is where you prove yourself, my friend,” he said, loosening the straps around Emry’s calves. “Any attempt to free yourself and my wizard will send a direct signal to your camp. You’d never see your friends again. ” 

They pulled him off his horse, his legs, stiff from disuse, were not ready to support his weight and they wobbled beneath him. 

  
“Understood?” Baldric grasped him at the forearms, likely both to steady him and also to prove his sincerity.

“Yes,” Emrys hissed.

“It is paramount that they recognize you as the guest that you are, so I advise you to conceal your shackles within your cloak.” Before Emrys could manage a reply, his own blue cloak was unfastened and replaced with a black one, in uniform with the others’ and closed to hide his front. He looked like he was one of them. 

“Is this how you treat all your guests, by binding them?” 

Baldric’s lips folded into a cool smile as he folded the blue over his forearm and stuffed it in a nearby sack, “just the special ones.” 

Emrys couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever see his cloak again.

The kingdom, while perhaps not as grandiose as Camelot, stretched itself across a much larger piece of land. Last he was here he found comfort in surrounding himself with his people should an altercation arise, but now he didn’t have that luxury, his defenses lowered and hands were tied (literally). He was alone. They could easily treat him with hostility if it pleased them, not that he’d done anything thus far to warrant that.

Thus far.

Emrys tried not to look disgustedly at the city and its people. He suspected that this whole operation was a quiet plot organized by Baldric himself, because if it were anything else surely he would’ve been tried and executed for treason by now. It’d only take one little whisper from an informant and the whole plan would crumble. He wondered how many of these people he had seen before, if anyone would know him here, if anyone could tell that this was unusual.

The men walked their horses through the gates, into the palace courtyard and handed the reins off to the stable boy. They strode up the steps to the grand entrance with ease, chatting amongst each other. Nothing at all was precarious about the scene, however once inside, the amiability faded. 

He knew the castle reasonably well, well enough to know that they were heading in the direction of the dungeons.

Sure enough, he was guided down several sets of staircases into the stone tunnels underneath the well-lit, somewhat ornate halls of the palace. It smelled of damp stone and hay and people who’ve not had a wash since god knows when. The air was heavy and got caught in his throat. 

There was one man keeping watch over the prisoners, he nodded to the men as though this was routine, clearly clued in. They pushed the sorcerer into a cell

“Congratulations Emrys, you’ve performed well. We’ll be returning you to your camp soon enough.”

Merlin looked at him baffled. He hadn’t  _ done _ anything. It was then that it occurred to him that he really may never see his family again, it seemed the only likely explanation. But why bring him so far for nothing? 

“Sorry we couldn’t offer you a better room, you know how chambermaids like to twitter and we can’t have that.” 

“So what is it exactly that you want me for?”

“You’ll see in due time, my friend.” 

_ You are not my friend, _ Emrys thought with ferocity.

“Now you just have to sit there and look pretty,” Baldric finished with a sly smile, closing the cell entrapping him within. The men left Emrys to himself.

He’d never felt so helpless in his life. His magic felt farther from him than ever. There was no soil to feel under his feet. He wanted to cry out for the life he missed. 

It was true, he felt as though he’d been reborn to the druids, for their way of life is far different than his years spent thus far. He was unused to the city and it’s cold brick and bustling crowds. If he strained his neck, he could peak out the little window near the ceiling that served as a grate. From it, he saw the feet of people passing in the square above him. 

As far as prison cells go however, this one was half decent despite being small. In the corner lay a bale of fresh hay which he would cover and use as a sleeping pallet. There were a few blankets that he could cover himself with for sleep, a pail of water, there was even a crate with two books and a loaf of bread. Clearly he was a top tier prisoner instead of your casual, run-of-the-mill convict as could be seen by the accommodations (or lack thereof) in the empty cell across from him.

And he was grateful for these little pleasantries- or, as grateful as he should be in a situation like that. 

  
  
  


Days passed this way. Emrys had grown used to using his hands as they were tied at the wrist. The skin that touched the cold iron was raw and stinging, but other than that no bodily harm was brought to him. They kept him fed and changed his pail once every night. As far as he could tell, there were no other prisoners being held down here, or at least no one answered when he spoke out. The books he’d been left with, he’d devored in three days and now the only thing to keep his interest was watching what little he could see of the sun set in the evening. 

His muscles ached from disuse and he had grown very weary, but in all this spare time waiting for nothing, he had time to think. What role could he possibly have to play in Baldric’s scheme? He knew it was a crucial one when he saw the fear in that man’s eyes as he thought he might be discovered. Emrys also knew Cenred’s nephew to be a clever man, a man who played the long-game. 

The fifth day he heard the commotion of the heavy door at the top of the stairs unlock just a few hours after his dinner. He looked up, confused. Usually there was nothing to be heard again until breakfast. 

Two men were shuffling one down the stone staircase. His head was hidden in a sack and his feet dragged along the floor. They shoved the man in the cell across from him, closed the gate, and locked it. One of the prison guards turned to sneer at Emrys who’d been watching the whole thing from his pallet.

Suddenly, there was an uneasy sense that this moment was important. 

Emrys crept out of his makeshift bed, he heard the door at the top of the stairs slam shut and the lock activate.

“Hello?” he asked quietly. But the man didn’t respond. He was slumped on the ground as the men had left him. “Are you alright?”

Nothing but dead air hung between them. 

There was nothing that could be done. Emrys crawled back under his blankets, covered himself using what range of motion the shackles would permit. But he did not fall swiftly asleep. He felt strange now, perhaps it was that he had been roused from his sleep. No- it wasn’t that, his body was reacting.

Likely it was his magic bubbling inside of him, just raging to come out, as if it’d been kept at bay too long. 

There was nothing that could be done. Finally sleep overtook him. 

  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

_ Merlin... _

It came in an old sort of gasp, like wind whispering through the trees. Like something not quite alive, not quite near to him. He hadn’t heard that voice in what seemed like a lifetime, not since it had been calling to him from the caves of Camelot.

_ Merlin, _

That hadn’t been his name in ages. He’d been only Emrys for the last four years. He felt his skin prickle at the sound of it, the name his mother had given him so many years ago.

“Merlin” 

He awoke with a start, jolting upright from his pallet. Sweat was smeared across his brow, evidence of troubled sleep he supposed. He looked to where the sound had come and saw the man whose back slumped against the bars of the cell across from him. 

Emrys rubbed his eyes, he couldn't be sure if he was dreaming or not.

“Arthur?” 

There was only a ragged breath in response. 

Emrys hurried to the bars that held him in. He couldn’t reach Arthur through them, but he could tell he was hurt. There were so many questions running through his head.

His blond hair was matted in the back probably from injury and when Arthur turned his face towards him, Merlin could see a dark bruise around his eye. Arthur kept his gaze low as though he were ashamed of it. Clearly he had sustained other injuries as well, if he could hardly speak or hold himself upright. 

“Arthur, what happened?” he whispered, desperately wishing to to reach out and touch him. Suddenly all those old feelings had awakened. He felt contempt for himself and anger at Arthur for what they might have had and what never could have been. 

“Cenred,” the King coughed, “there was news of your capture and execution, we came as soon as we could.” 

“Cenred? But that’s-” and then it stuck him, Baldric’s plan. It was all clear now. “Oh no.”

It wasn’t Emrys that he needed, it was Arthur. Baldric had known, somehow he had known, that if Merlin was in danger, Arthur would fight tooth and nail to protect him. Emrys alone had the power to eradicate Cenred and his army, but he had no motive and had he been forced against his will, he would have turned that power back onto the attempted usurper. No, he had needed to be threatened only to make him tag along. He was a pawn in the plot to make the King of Camelot do his dirty work for him and overthrow his uncle. 

“How could I have been so  _ stupid _ ?” Merlin groaned to himself, pressing his dirty palms into his forehead. How had he not seen this sooner? This was the answer, wasn’t it? The reason his shield around the camp broke in the moment that it did, because it was all tied up in Arthur. It appeared that Merlin’s destiny was not through with him yet.

“It wasn’t Cenred, it was Baldric this whole time,” Emrys sighed, “he told you Cenred had me because he knew you would trip over yourself to take Cenred down so that he could assume the throne.”

Arthur was quiet. This is not the reception he had been expecting, though to be fair he did not expect to be captured either. 

He’d been fighting valiantly, but he was getting admittedly tired and he failed to notice two men sneaking up behind him with a sack which was then thrown over him. He quickly realized that it had been doused in some sort of potent concoction that made him lose consciousness altogether. That was the last thing he remembered before waking up in a cold dark place only to open his good eye and see his former lover lying across from him. 

He didn’t want it to be this way. He didn’t want Merlin to see him battered. 

Arthur harboured for him strange emotions that he didn’t quite understand himself. Spite, mostly for leaving him a second time and if that weren’t enough, he still ached for his touch. Lust raged inside him for lack of warmth every winter. It didn’t matter how many furs he lined the bed with or how closely he held his wife, always he ached for Merlin. 

“It seems we’ve both fallen into his trap.” He didn’t look at him. He stared at the floor. 

Merlin scoffed rather rudely, “It’s hardly a trap to threaten the safety of my friends.”

Arthur eyed him seriously over his shoulder, as though Merlin had missed a vital piece of information “Well if that’s the way you want to look at it, then surely our situations are not so different.”

Arthur was right. Merlin looked down at his hands. It was clear that they had nothing to say to each other despite the obvious. His throat stung and guilt overtook him. There was a strange air between them. This was not the joyous reunion that Arthur had hoped for. It was like there was nothing left to hide between them any longer.

  
  


Such a long, winding history… how could anyone try to run from it? He thought all those years ago he could make his home among people more like him, that seemed so silly now. And he’d known it all along, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it to himself. He’d known that his home was in Camelot, beside Arthur.

“Arthur…” Merlin realized how chapped his lips were and how shakey his voice had become, “for everything, I’m… I’m so sorry.” He looked up to him and remembered how different the circumstances were the last time he gazed upon his face in the moonlight. 

The King just stared at him, through their confines. 

“You have given me everything, and I… I have not been kind to you. Things should not have turned out this way and it’s because of me,” he hadn’t even realized his eyes had watered until he felt a droplet fall on the skin below his shackles. 

Arthur said nothing. 

“I thought I knew what I needed, I thought I needed to find my own path after I fulfilled the prophecy, but I see now that what I needed was to stay with you.” He swallowed, trying to keep it down. “I-I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Arthur sighed from his respective position and let his head slump down on his neck. It was difficult to puzzle through all of the complex emotions he was feeling at that moment.

“None of us do,” Arthur said, almost to himself. He said no words of solace, they were passed trying to comfort each other. The only thing worth speaking about was what was in front of them. 

It was like they were kids again. 

“I told Gwen,” he paused ”She was upset at first but she understood. I think part of her had always known… maybe even before I did. She said that she knew that you made me happy in a rather dreary position.” He coughed again, “I really don’t deserve her.”

Part of Merlin was amazed that he told his wife, but then this was Arthur, he always righted a wrong, no matter how difficult. 

There was a moment of silence between them, before Merlin spoke, “But you came anyways.”

Arthur snorted, “of course I bloody came. Did you really think I wouldn’t?” 

Merlin turned to him and realized that Arthur had been watching him with calmness in his eyes, waiting for him to look up and meet him. It was hard to look at him and not be able to tend to his wounds, they must’ve hurt.

“I have a baby,” Merlin whispered, not sure why he was saying this “and a wife.”

Arthur’s mouth twisted but his gaze never faltered, “So do I.”

Merlin wanted to touch him, caress his check. He wanted to reaffirm all that he’d worked so hard to forget. The only love that made his life feel truly worthwhile

“What are you saying?” 

“Well,” Arthur licked his lips, “if we ever find a way out of this mess, I want you to stay with me in Camelot.” These were the words that had been brewing in his throat for a decade, finally free, finally in the open. Now there was a weight lifted from him. “You could bring your family too, we’ll figure something out.”

Merlin couldn’t hide the surprise from his face. He never expected this from Arthur.

“I know it’s not ideal but… none of what’s happened between us really is.” He gazed out at the ground at Merlin’s feet as he said this, in a moment of rumination then looked up at him and continued, ”All I know is that I’ve loved you for a long time, nearly half my life now, and I never feel so complete as when you’re with me,” he looked Merlin in the eye with a sort of rawness, a sort of sadness but there was strength behind it. “And I’ve wanted to say that since I met you, but I couldn’t muster the words.” 

Maybe it was the danger of the immediate situation that gave Arthur the kind of strength needed to get this all out. 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything right now, just… just promise me you’ll think about it.” 

Merlin looked at him. Arthur had a hopeful expression as he gazed back, almost a smile despite all this.

“What’s she like, you’re wife?”

This shocked Merlin even more that he should ask, seeing as though she was one of the many obstacles keeping their relationship as it was. 

“Her name is Aislynn. She makes me laugh,” he smiled a bit to himself, “she’s a bit of a firecracker though, definitely keeps me in line.”

“Well someone has to,” Arthur chuckled. 

There was a strange sort of intimacy between them. They’d bore their souls to each other so many different times, in so many different ways over the years, it felt wrong that they should hold back. Yet, it was delicate. Arthur had only just now promised to be vocal in his feelings.

“And we-” pausing, as if unsure if he should even divulge this information, “we have a baby.” 

“Oh.” Arthur was unsure why, but this hurt him more than learning that Merlin had married. He supposed that it meant that he’d truly moved on with his life even after they had made their feelings for each other known. Merlin could hardly be blamed however, he had met two of Arthur’s children and has yet to meet the newest. 

“A baby girl, she’s only two,” Merlin smiled, he missed her terribly, “Her name’s Enith after my mother.” 

“I hope to meet her one day.”

Merlin paused, not sure what to say next.

“I hope so too.” 

  
  


***

  
  
  


There was stillness between them. It was as though there was something that should be said but neither knew what it was, or perhaps neither knew how to say it. It wasn’t uncomfortable, more like a pregnant moment. 

As if to excuse the silence, Merlin had slid his favorite of the books to the floor where Arthur could reach if he strained himself. Little was said before the sun had set and they ate in quietness, alone together and when Merlin laid down to rest, he closed his eyes and pretended that the quiet snores were far closer to him than the cell across from his. When he felt fingers caressing the back of his hand, he could almost convince himself that they were Arthurs and not his own, but then he heard the clanking of his shackles and the dream was ruined. 

“Arthur?” he asked shakily into the darkness, not knowing if he really wanted to be heard or not.

The snoring stopped. “Hm?” 

Merlin couldn’t see him, but he pictured him in head looking up at him sleepily, maybe with his hair all out of sorts like he did when they were kids. 

“I missed you.” he whispered.

There was more quietness. He half expected him to have fallen back asleep, or perhaps never heard him in the first place.

But then, out of the darkness came sweetness,

_ “I missed you too.”  _

  
  



End file.
